


Flawless Victory

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mortal Kombat, Alternate Universe - Twins, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek is a Twin, M/M, Mortal Kombat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21714652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: Talia pulled Derek into a hug. “Do not take any senseless risk in this tournament. I won’t lose you for his gain—not again.”Derek wrapped his arms around his mother, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. He wished he could stay with her in the palace where the Emperor confined her most days, away from the tournament and the death that unfolded for the Emperor's amusement.~*~Or, a Mortal Kombat AU
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 9
Kudos: 306





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old commission by an anonymous fan. Thank you so much for your support, and I hope you enjoy this, and that it was what you were looking for <3<3<3
> 
> And yes, I know Linden Ashby played Johnny Cage in the 1995 movie, but I played around with it because I love the idea of Claudia being the Johnny Cage character. And the Sheriff being more like Sonya Blade. And of course, Stiles is somewhat of a sassy ball of kickass like Cassie Cage.
> 
> Derek as Mileena, who I always loved in the series, but I played with the characterization. (What if Kitana was the bad one really??) And Talia is Sindel, but alive still.

Derek looked out over the start of the tournament. He leaned his arms against the balcony’s railing, watching as the fighters began. His gaze flickered over to the throne—where the Emperor lounged. He knew this tournament was the most important of all—the last to be won before Earth realm fell to the Emperor’s rule.

It didn’t mean Derek wanted it to end that way.

“This group’s a little more interesting,” Kerin commented.

Derek didn’t bother to look at his brother. “I doubt they’ll win this time—the same as before,” he answered.

“They have new blood,” Kerin replied, his gaze looking at the small group of human fighters in attendance. “Which I’m sure you’re excited to taste.”

Derek remained silent, keeping control of his urges to argue with his brother.

“Try not to eat their faces off this time, will you?” Kerin jested with a laugh, nudging Derek before he turned to leave.

Derek watched as another competitor fell to the uproar of the crowd.

~*~

Stiles winced when he saw teeth fly out of the opponent’s mouth. “How is our dental insurance?” He jokingly asked Lydia.

“Just shut up and focus,” Lydia sighed.

“Hey, I’m just saying, I happen to like my smile,” Stiles replied.

Allison softly snorted.

“How do we tell if we’re going to be challenged?” Stiles asked.

“Keep your head down, and you’ll avoid a death sentence, Stilinski,” Jackson replied.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I think I can handle this,” he replied. “After all,  _ both  _ my parents—”

“—Fought in the previous tournament, we know,” Lydia and Allison stated in near unison.

Stiles nodded, refusing to let that fact slide out of existence. He turned his attention back to the arena scaffolding, only to find himself distracted. “Who is that?” He asked, gesturing towards the young man.

“Don’t point,” Allison chastised Stiles, smacking his finger down and out of sight.

“That’s Prince Kerin,” Lydia stated when she saw who Stiles was referring to. She briefly side-eyed Stiles. “No. I know what you’re thinking and the answer is no.”

“What?” Stiles sounded offended by Lyida’s words. “He’s pretty, is all.”

“You can’t even see his whole face, Stiles,” Allison partially laughed.

“Plus, he’s a couple of centuries old, dude,” Jackson countered. 

“Well, in that case, he looks amazing for his age,” Stiles stated. He was looking at the prince when they caught each other looking.

The prince smirked at Stiles before turning to slip away from the throne’s scaffolding.

“He’s up to something,” Stiles commented.

“I’ll follow him,” Allison stated, taking charge to tail the prince.

Stiles started to argue, “Hey, I could—”

“No,” Lydia firmly stated. “Allison has it covered.”

~*~

Talia placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder, gaining her son’s attention.

Derek turned his head to look at Talia, seeing that his mother was in ceremonial dressings, marking the rare occasion that she had to prepare for a public appearance by the Emperor’s side. He looked back down at the fight when he heard the crowd cheer.

Another victory for Outworld.

“He wants you down there,” Talia stated the obvious.

“I don’t want to,” Derek softly stated, knowing neither of them had a say in it.

“I know you don’t,” Talia replied. “But you have to—we both do.”

“He doesn’t make you kill,” Derek countered.

Talia reached up to run her fingers through Derek’s hair, avoiding the mask wrapped around the bottom of his face and up around his ears. “You’re not the animal he tries to make you be.”

“It’s in my blood,” Derek hollowly stated. He turned to look at Talia, knowing the yellow was glowing through his irises.

Talia reached her hand out to touch Derek’s cheek, frowning as she pulled her hand back when he recoiled. “The Tarkata are fierce warriors, and though bloodlust runs through their veins, it does not have to rule you. You’re a predator, not a killer.”

“I’m a freak of nature,” Derek growled out, his hands balling into fists against the railing.

“You’re my son—”

“—Am I?” Derek demanded, turning from the balcony completely.

Talia sadly looked at Derek, wanting to know why he pressed so hard against such affections.

“Deaton pieced me together in the Flesh Pits. I’m only half-Edenian,” Derek continued. “I will never be your son the way Kerin is,” he added, determined to walk away.

“You are still my son!” Talia firmly stated, grabbing Derek’s arm to stop him. “I carried you to term— I grieved with losing you for the time I had,” she stated as she pulled Derek back to face her. “When the Emperor returned you to me, I knew he was trying to bait me into favoring him for such a gift.” She cupped Derek’s face in her hands, making it impossible for him to hide his face away from her.

“When Deaton told me one of my children had not drawn breath, I—” Talia shook her head. “I was furious with them when they brought you back to me years later. But I would not trade that blessing for anything.”

Talia pulled Derek into a hug. “Do not take any senseless risk in this tournament. I won’t lose you for his gain—not again.”

Derek wrapped his arms around his mother, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. He wished he could stay with her in the palace where the Emperor confined her most days, away from the tournament and the death that unfolded for the Emperor's amusement.

~*~

Derek wanted to know the truth—he wanted to know why he was losing control of his bloodlust with each passing tournament. He was terrified when he blacked out the last tournament, waking up with blood staining his hands and face, his mask gone and fangs exposed.

Kerin had laughed when the Emperor congratulated Derek on his brutal win. His brother noted that Deaton said as much would happen one day—that the Tarkatan blood would begin to take over with every kill.

Derek wanted answers.

And if Deaton had the answers, they would be in the Flesh Pits.

Derek remembered the Flesh Pits—the overpowering stench of blood and carnage made him sick. He had been frightened by the various machines and the dismembered bodies fed into them. He had only been a child, awaken for just a few days when Deaton finally brought him back to the palace, no memory before that. He had been presented to the Emperor as a promise of being the first of many to follow—Tarkatan hybrids.

The Emperor allowed Deaton to continue his experiments, pleased with Derek’s apparent resurrection.

However, Derek wondered if he had ever truly been dead, or if Deaton lied to Talia for a chance to experiment on the royal Edenian bloodline unhindered by muddling. Either way, it meant nothing for Deaton’s future attempts at Tarkatan hybrids.

Derek was still the only survivor of Deaton’s failed experiments.

The Emperor did not let Derek’s uniqueness go to waste. He was amused when watching Derek fight in the tournament, finding a joy when Derek would lose control to his blood lust in the midst of battle.

And Derek always won his fights, ensuring another victory for Outworld.

“Hey!”

Derek turned, looking at the person that called to him. He glowered at the human running up to him, somewhat unsure why anyone from Earth realm would want to talk with him.

The human was young, likely in his twenties if Derek recalled human age correctly. He was sporting tactical gear similar to those that Derek had seen in previous tournaments. He had the insignia of a specific branch and name embroidered into his sleeves—a symbol Derek had seen on an older woman’s gear from years before.

If Derek wasn’t mistaken, the human looked strikingly similar to that woman.

The humans called her Claudia.

“You are a tough guy to track,” the human panted out once he reached Derek. He leaned over, placing his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“You’re following me?” Derek incredulously demanded.

“Well, duh,” the human replied, standing up straight. “Pretty faced prince runs off before all the fights are done, I’m curious enough to see what is more important to him than winning his father’s tournament.”

Derek stared at the human, confused by his words. “... Pretty ...” he mulled over the word.

The human’s cheeks reddened suddenly, his eyes widening. “Uh, I mean, it’s a normal thing on Earth for someone to comment on the attractiveness of others.”

Derek narrowed his gaze at the human. “You’re very strange,” he answered.

“Yeah, that’s a normal thing to comment on too,” the human replied.

“And I suppose you’re pretty too,” Derek added, turning and continuing his way towards the Flesh Pits.

The human gave chase. “You think I’m pretty?” He asked with what sounded like excitement.

Derek remained silent, hoping the human would lose interest and disappear.

“Where are we going?” The human asked out of curiosity.

“We are not going anywhere,” Derek replied, stopping to face the young human. “I am headed to Deaton’s Flesh Pits.”

The human made a face. “That sounds like a bad shop of horrors ride,” he commented.

Derek’s brow furrowed. “A what?” He questioned.

“Um, these big attraction places that are all about scares and thrills? Humans have them everywhere—there is no end to the amount of people who want to be frightened.” The human looked surprised when Derek blankly stared back at him. “Oh man, you probably don’t have cheesy stuff like that here—the Emperor isn’t about fun right?” He softly laughed. “Oh, not to bad mouth your dad or anything.”

“He’s not my father,” Derek roughly replied.

“Oh, sorry,” the human answered, knowing it was a sensitive subject from Derek’s response alone. “I’m Stiles, by the way,” he offered his hand to Derek.

Derek looked at the human’s—Stiles’—hand. He looked back up at Stiles.

“Do you not shake hands in Outworld?” Stiles quizzically asked.

“People normally don’t want to touch me,” Derek replied.

Stiles’ features fell some. “Well, if you’re not touch shy...” He kept his hand outstretched.

Derek frowned as he looked at Stiles’ hand. “What do you do?”

Stiles took a step forward, taking Derek’s gloved hand in his own, slowly shaking their hands. “It’s how we greet one another.”

Derek watched their hands move together, somewhat fascinated that Stiles wasn’t pulling away just yet.

Stiles smiled at Derek.

Derek was perplexed by Stiles’ smile, and the soft tumbling wave of emotion roiling his stomach into knots. He forced himself to pull his hand back, turning away from Stiles. “You should head back to the tournament,” he uttered.

“What about you?” Stiles asked, placing his gloved hands on his hips. “The Emperor said you were competing, so maybe you could come back with me.”

Derek snuck a glance back at Stiles. “Do you wish to fight me, then?”

Stiles balked. “What? No, that was just— I was being friendly.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be,” Derek replied. “If the Emperor sees us together, he’ll arrange us to fight—and I don’t lose, human.”

“Stiles,” Stiles corrected Derek.

Derek scrunched his nose before relenting, “Please, Stiles. Go back to your group, and stay away from here.”

Stiles turned to look back at where he came from. "We could go together—" he stared at where Derek had been, frowning when he couldn't find a trace of the man. "Or you could vanish on me completely … Smooth, Stilinski," he dejectedly sighed, running a hand over the back of his neck. He kicked the dirt under his boot, reluctantly turning to leave.

Derek watched Stiles leave, his gaze curiously tracking the human. He did not miss the fact that he had once again been confused for Kerin. Though, part of him wished he had let the moment linger, finding Stiles' attentions appealing.

~*~

Stiles kicked the sole of his boot against the dirt, watching as it scattered in disarray before him. He scuffed the toe more than once as he tried to run through what had happened with the prince. He had thought he was a moron for running up to the prince in the first place, knowing that any Outworlder was likely to attack him on sight. But the prince was different—almost playful, the faintest hint of a tender smile hidden behind the mask he suddenly wore.

Part of Stiles wondered if it was a cultural thing, but he dismissed it when he remembered the prince talking with the Emperor without the mask. He was curious if there was something he missed.

Stiles was proud of himself for following the prince without difficulty. He lost him one moment, but caught his trail after a while. He was growing used to Outworld’s weather and time changes, finding the terrain easier to traverse. He counted that as a win for himself, excited to tell his father about it once he reached earth again.

And all this was a distraction to ignore the fact that despite his own insistence that he knew where he was going ... he was, in fact, lost.

Stiles sighed, putting his hands on his hips as he looked out over the cliff he managed to climb. “I know I’m close to it, I just have to find it—” he startled when he realized someone had snuck up behind him. “By the power of Grey Skull!” He yelped, flailing his arms as he backed hastily away from the person.

Stiles eased his breathing when he realized it was the prince.

The prince arched his eyebrow at Stiles.

“You scared the crap out of me, dude,” Stiles deeply sighed. “I thought you had somewhere to be—the Flesh Pits, or something.”

The prince looked surprised by Stiles’ words. “I … figured you might get lost.”

Stiles faintly nodded his head. “Well, good deduction. Because I am lost.”

The prince smiled at Stiles.

“Um, what happened to your mask?” Stiles asked, gesturing towards his own mouth.

“My—” The prince mimicked Stiles’ gesture, his gloved fingertips touching his own cheek. “Oh, I got tired of it,” he stated. “It makes it harder to breathe, sometimes.”

“I can only imagine, in this humidity,” Stiles agreed. “Did you make it to the Flesh Pits at all before you came to my rescue?” He inquired, wishing to know what was so important about the sorcerer’s Flesh Pits.

A muscle in the prince’s jaw ticked with annoyance. “Like I said, I came back for you.”

Uneasiness rolled around in Stiles’ stomach. He wasn’t sure why, but the prince’s smile seemed off—despite the fact that it was covered the first time around.

The prince seemed different, as if there was a rigidness to his interactions.

“Well, if you point me back towards the palace, I’ll let you get back to business,” Stiles explained, offering a placating smile of his own.

The prince took a step towards Stiles, crowding into his space some.

Stiles took a step back from him, his footing almost slipping against the edge of the cliff. He reached his hands out to grab at something for stability. His hands clutched at the prince’s armor.

The prince’s hands steadied him, the action appearing slow and menial. “Careful, it’s dangerous out here.”

Stiles looked down at the cliff’s edge before looking back at the prince. “Uh, yeah,” he softly stated. “You just startled me.”

“I … tend to do that to people,” the prince answered, a frown on his lips as he released Stiles.

And now Stiles felt like shit, remembering the prince’s hesitance to even shake his hand. “It’s okay. Everything startles me—I’m accident prone,” he softly laughed.

The prince lightly smiled. “If you go down that trail,” he started, gesturing towards the road leading down and around a series of rocks. “You’ll eventually come to a fork. Keep to the left, and you’ll be brought back to Earthrealm’s camp.”

Stiles nodded. “Thanks, I’d have never figured that one out,” he smiled.

The prince smiled back at Stiles. “Sure you would have.”

Stiles felt uneasy again. “Um, are you heading back to the Flesh Pits?”

The prince turned his head to look at where Stiles had come from. “Yes, I have questions that need answering,” he replied.

Stiles nodded again. “Well, I guess I’ll see you back at the tournament.”

“I’ll see you there, Stilinski,” the prince replied, taking a step back.

Stiles turned and headed down the path. He hesitated when he suddenly thought about the prince’s last words. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember their previous conversation. When he turned to look back at the prince, he found that the prince had disappeared once again.

Stiles never told the prince that his last name was Stilinski.

~*~

Derek flipped through the scrolls littered throughout Deaton’s main laboratory. He found very few notes and scribbles written about him and his resurrection. There was something Deaton was looking for in the royal Edenian bloodline that the sorcerer used when resurrecting Derek.

Somehow, the Edenian blood bonded with the Takaran to produce a hybrid stronger than both. Though it was randomized what traits the subject would receive from such experimentations.

Derek found more than one scroll with scratches across them, Deaton’s handwritten notes about what failures caused the experiment to die.

Derek startled at the sound of glass shattering. He turned to look at where the sound came from, unsurprised that he couldn’t sense anything over the loud churn of the machinery. He slowly approached where he thought the noise originated from, his steps slow and calculated as he prepared for the worst—facing Deaton with the knowledge the sorcerer couldn’t help him.

A terrible blood curdling shriek cut through the constant crunch and churn of the torture devices.

Derek was knocked off balance by something jumping him from behind. He fought hard enough to get free, elbowing and kicking the creature that attacked him as he rolled to the side. He managed to get onto his knees, preparing for another attack. His entire world boiled down and froze in the moment he saw the creature.

It was humanoid in shape, though its skin was mangled and scarred in a way that looked as if it had suffered burns and disfigurement. It had claws that dug into the dirt and rock of the Flesh Pits’ floor, gangly arms and legs supporting the creature as it hunched over where Derek had been. Its hair was long, messily hanging around its face as it leaned down to the ground, breathing raggedly as it took in Derek’s scent.

Lastly, it was its face that haunted Derek most.

Another hysterical shriek left the creature, as if it recognized something about Derek and hated him for it. It looked up at Derek with a twisted feature, snarling lowly at him.

Golden eyes, bloodshot with pupils in slits. Fangs that marred and twisted the mouth, splitting the cheeks open until its ears.

It looked how Derek thought he would one day look, when the bloodlust took over, and he was nothing more than a senseless beast. He feared it was what Deaton had planned all along.

And then, the creature suddenly charged at him.

~*~

“Where were you?” Lydia demanded, not even looking up when Stiles entered their camp.

“I went for a stroll,” Stiles replied.

“You followed Prince Kerin, didn’t you,” Lydia more stated than asked.

“If you already knew, why ask?” Stiles replied as he paused by the campfire.

“He’s dangerous, Stiles,” Lydia chastised. “Do you know what happened to the last person that approached him like you did?”

Stiles looked at Lydia, sensing the seriousness in her words. “What happened?”

Lydia’s features were pinched, as if she wished Stiles hadn’t asked her for details. “He disemboweled him with his fans,” she softly stated. “Left him in the middle of nowhere to slowly bleed out and die, all because the idiot was intrigued by him.”

Stiles frowned at Lydia’s words. “He wasn’t an idiot—the prince sounds sadistic,” he corrected her.

“He was warned so many times, but didn’t listen,” Lydia shook her head. “I don’t want you to die in a similar manner.”

Stiles plopped down in the seat next to Lydia. “I’m not calling you a liar, Lyds, but I don’t know if that story is true.”

“It is, Stiles,” Lydia adamantly replied.

“Well, I met the prince,” Stiles answered.

Lydia’s head whipped to the side to stare at Stiles incredulously.

“He was really nice, actually,” Stiles elaborated. “He said he didn’t want me getting hurt. He sent me back to the camp, telling me to avoid danger.” He shrugged when Lydia narrowed her gaze at him. “It just seems to me that he wouldn’t have done that if he wanted me dead.”

Lydia sighed. “He seduces and then kills. It’s what he does.”

Stiles frowned, using one of the longer sticks by their seats to poke at the fire some. He wasn’t so sure about Lydia’s words, wondering why the prince had seemed so adamant that he head back to camp— _ away _ from danger.

~*~

Derek finished tying the bandage around his bicep, content that it at least stopped the bleeding.

The creature he killed in the Flesh Pits was definitely created from his blood. He could see the similarities in the creature’s features—enough that it unsettled Derek while he inspected its corpse for clues.

He wanted answers, and he had yet to find Deaton’s hiding place.

“Someone has an admirer,” Kerin taunted as he dropped down from his perch up high. He laughed when Derek ignored him. “Father is going to want to know this.”

“The human is nothing,” Derek snapped at Kerin, his anger suddenly bubbling over now. His emotions weren’t in check right now, and part of him wanted to let his anger go on Kerin.

Kerin slyly smiled. “If he’s nothing, then why are you so defensive?”

“Were you following me?” Derek gruffly demanded, his anger disguising his desire to change the subject from Stiles.

“The human was following me, so I thought it would be more fun to lead him to you instead,” Kerin replied as he came to stand directly in front of Derek, blocking his brother’s exit.

“Hoping he’d kill me instead of you, you mean,” Derek pushed back.

“Something like that,” Kerin replied. “But if we can infiltrate them from the inside, that would be a critical exploit to take advantage of.”

“I’m not your puppet,  _ brother _ ,” Derek snapped at Kerin, shoving his shoulder into him as he stormed by him.

Kerin narrowed his gaze as he watched Derek leave.

~*~

Stiles looked over his shoulder, thinking he had successfully snuck out of the encampment without anyone noticing.

“What are you doing?” Allison’s calm voice startled Stiles. She smiled as she watched Stiles’ arms flail around.

“God, Ally, give me a heart attack,” Stiles sighed, pressing a hand to his chest. He watched Allison easily dismount from the tree she had been lounging in.

“Where are you going, Stiles?” Allison asked with more purpose.

“Going? Going where? I’m not going anywhere,” Stiles quickly answered.

Allison arched her eyebrow at Stiles.

Stiles sighed. “Alright, I’m headed to Deaton’s Flesh Pits,” he explained. “Wow, that sounds more sexual than literal when you say it aloud like that,” he commented.

“Why would you be going into a literal torture chamber, Stiles?” Allison questioned.

“I’m … curious about a few things,” Stiles offered.

"I'll come with you," Allison replied, moving to walk alongside Stiles.

"Ally, I got this—"

"Safety in numbers, Stiles," Allison countered, a sweet but knowing smile on her lips.

Stiles sighed, taking the lead as they headed out of camp.

~*~

“There were dozens, if not more,” Derek finished explaining to Talia.

“You’re certain they’re … clones,” Talia asked, her tone distant with disbelief.

Derek silently nodded. “One attacked me,” he offered. “It acted almost childlike—like it didn’t understand why it was attacking me, but relished in the fight all the same. It was … demented. It could barely talk."

Talia turned to look out the window, hearing the next round of fights beginning. She knew the Emperor was down there, watching the spectacle. “Deaton did this for him,” she angrily stated.

“He’s kept them in the Flesh Pits—isolating them to the point that they’re mindless killers,” Derek stated.

“So, just like you,” Kerin’s voice answered.

Derek stood, turning to face his brother’s approaching form. “Did you have something to do with this?” He demanded, suspecting Kerin from the beginning.

Kerin scoffed. “I was a baby when Deaton took you, idiot,” he answered.

“Kerin,” Talia forcefully started. “Answer your brother’s question.”

Kerin looked at Talia, his features twisted in angered annoyance. “You always pitied him,” he lowly stated, a twinge of jealousy cutting through his words. “Poor Derek, with a face so ugly only a mother could love him.”

Talia’s expression cracked, a flicker of emotion quickly covered by a steely gaze.

“What about me?” Kerin pressed, taking a step towards her. “Didn’t I matter?”

“Kerin, stop it,” Talia stated.

"You  _ always  _ favored him," Kerin snapped, taking a step towards Talia.

Derek sidestepped in front of Talia, blocking Kerin from getting closer to her.

Kerin laughed at Derek’s defensive display. “Trying to protect mom? You can’t even protect her from yourself, remember?”

Derek still couldn’t remember what happened that day. He was young—considered a child by Outworld’s standards. He had yet to don the mask he now wore daily, finding that he didn’t trust himself without it after that day. He had been with Talia, learning his daily history lesson when she softly scolded him to pay attention, taking the distraction from him.

Derek blacked out, and woke up cast aside on the floor, his mind foggy with confusion as he stirred. He could taste copper on his tongue, his teeth covered in cooling blood. He looked at his mother, seeing the blood running down her arm and staining her white robes.

Derek was the one that pulled away from Talia when she reached for him, running from her. The scars were still visible under the long sleeves Talia wore, perforated marks around her arm in the formation of jagged teeth.

That was the day the Emperor gave Derek his first mask—a tool to safeguard his anger is what the Emperor told Talia when she objected.

But Derek knew better—the Emperor enjoyed knowing he had an animal to be leashed and freed at his own whim.

Derek was determined to never take the mask off after that. It became a muzzle to dull his bloodlust, though unable to fully contain it.

"Used her for a chew toy before you even realized what you are," Kerin uttered.

"And what am I?" Derek demanded, knowing from the beginning that Kerin likely had something to do with all this now that he served as the Emperor's right hand.

"A freak of nature," Kerin replied.

"I think you can't stand the fact that the Emperor favors my potential," Derek baited.

Kerin’s features darkened. “You’re a pathetic tool, nothing more.”

“I think the pot is calling the kettle black,” Derek answered.

“Once you’ve lost all control, you’ll be nothing but an animal on the Emperor’s leash,” Kerin spat at Derek. “A beast under heel. You and  _ mother _ .”

Derek felt his anger rising, the burn of the gold in his eyes as they started to change. His fangs grew hungry to tear through Kerin’s throat.

“And then I’ll have fun with the human,” Kerin added. “He’s a little obvious about how much he likes you—it’s the one reason I decided to play with him some more before killing him. Just like the other one.”

Derek’s rage suddenly peaked, his anger and bloodlust blinding him as he lunged at Kerin.

~*~

"Lydia isn't going to be happy with this," Allison noted as she walked alongside Stiles.

Stiles sighed, knowing Allison had a point. "Maybe we'll find something worth wild," he reasoned as he pushed the doors open, leaning his head through the opening to see if there was anyone inside. He signaled for Allison to follow him.

"You think they'd name it something more secretive than Flesh Pits," Allison mused.

"I don't think they care about being discreet, Ally," Stiles replied, turning his attention towards her as he walked backwards into the room.

"Stiles!" Allison yelled as she pointed at the creature behind him.

Stiles turned in time to see the humanoid attack him.

~*~

Rushed steps echoed in the hall, accompanied by their owners’ heavy breathing.

Talia tightened her hold on Derek’s hand, forcing her son to keep up with her as they ran.

“Mother,” Derek weakly called her name—a plea for a reprieve.

“You have to leave,” Talia informed him, pulling Derek after her.

“Stop!” Derek yelled at her, yanking his hand out of her grasp.

Talia turned to look at Derek.

Derek’s mask was missing, lost in his fight with Kerin. His fangs were prominently on display for anyone to see. He looked up at Talia, seeing the blood staining her once pristinely white robes. He looked down at his own hands, observing the blood smeared across his hands and arms. He knew he had blood drying on his face, the coppery taste stuck in his mouth.

“You need to leave, Derek,” Talia firmly stated. “When the Emperor finds out—”

“He’ll be overjoyed,” Derek bitterly replied, looking up at Talia through his tears. “He’ll be happy that I’m the monster he always wanted.”

“No,” Talia objected, taking steps closer to Derek. “You are not a monster.”

“Look at me!” Derek yelled at her. A broken sob snuck out as he weakly echoed, “Look at me. I can’t control myself any better than that clone.”

“Kerin baited you,” Talia argued. “He knew he could rile you up with memories of what he did to that girl.”

Derek only ever dared to get close to another once. She was a fighter from a small village in Outworld, determined to represent her people in the Emperor's tournament. She had been kind, quick witted, and didn't question Derek's mask.

Kerin found out, and took pleasure in tearing it all apart.

“And now I’ve bitten a chunk out of his face,” Derek hollowly stated, wanting to forget about what happened with Paige.

Talia reached her hands up, cupping Derek’s face in her palms. Her hands grazed the fangs that ran along the outside of Derek’s cheeks. She remembered the day Deaton had brought him back to her, the visage of a healthy young boy. Except the wounds in his cheeks.

Deaton explained that his fangs grew faster than anticipated for his body. He said he had a solution for it—a simple surgery to expand the opening of Derek’s mouth to accommodate the fangs.

It wasn't a surgery. It was torture.

Deaton used a simple knife to cut through the flesh of Derek's cheeks.

The Emperor made Talia watch, a punishing grip on her arm kept her from rushing forward to stop Deaton. He found amusement in watching Talia listen to Derek’s screams of pain.

_ He’s mine to do with as I please—remember that _ .

Talia had changed the bandages on Derek’s face, keeping him by her side despite the Emperor’s threat. She slept in bed alongside Derek, using what little healing magic she still had left to soothe his pains. She had just gotten him back, she wasn't going to lose him now.

It was impossible to hide Derek’s fangs after that. His cheeks were scarred to place the fangs on display.

“You are my son, and I love you,” Talia firmly stated, the faintest collection of tears brimming in her eyes. “I should have saved you a long time ago,” she softly stated. “You need to run, Derek, and don’t come back here. Because if you do, the Emperor will put a collar on you.”

Derek shook his head. “I can’t go anywhere without you.”

Talia pulled Derek into a hug, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’ll be with you. Always,” she gently answered.

~*~

Stiles was panting, catching his breath as Allison holstered her weapon. He watched Allison take precautionary steps towards the dead creature. "Are we sure it's dead?"

Allison looked down at the creature. “It’s not breathing,” she commented. “But I wouldn’t turn our backs on it for now.”

Stiles sighed, catching his breath now that they had a moment. “I don’t know about you, but something is going on here.”

“Yeah, I’d say,” Allison agreed. She looked down at the creature, her brow furrowed. “Do you … recognize this thing?”

Stiles looked at Allison before looking down at the creature. He was trying to see what Allison was talking about, looking at the creature’s features. The only thing he could even argue as recognizable--the golden split irises of the creatures eyes could look similar to the flicker he saw in the prince’s gaze. “I’m not sure,” he softly stated.

Allison looked at Stiles, not believing him.

“Listen, I don’t know,” Stiles stated, unwilling to say it.

“This thing has razor sharp teeth,” Allison commented. “When was the last time you saw the prince without his mask.”

“I actually did see him,” Stiles countered. “A little while ago, he didn’t have his mask on.”

Allison frowned. “There is something happening here though. This thing could be … it has some of the prince’s features is all.”

Stiles sighed. “We should talk to the prince, then, and get some answers, then.”

~*~

Kerin was nursing the wound Derek inflicted on his jaw. Jagged teeth marks ran down along his throat, down the curve of his shoulder. “I want him dead—”

“Then you should have killed him,” the Emperor answered Kerin in a tired tone. “It’s pathetic that you think a tantrum will get you your ways.”

“He resorted to his Tarkatan rage,” Kerin snapped.

“Good,” the Emperor replied. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

Deaton entered the hall with an escort of the Emperor’s guards.

Talia followed, her robes still covered in Kerin’s blood.

“Where is he?” Kerin demanded.

The Emperor observed Talia carefully, a small smirk dancing across his lips. “You sent him away.”

Talia didn’t reply, keeping her head held high.

“Clever bitch,” the Emperor huffed as he stood from his throne. He took a few steps down, standing in front of Deaton. “Have your army readied—we’ll have to proceed without a general.”

Kerin noticeably startled at the Emperor’s words. “You were going to make that  _ freak  _ your general?” He demanded.

The Emperor ignored Kerin, moving to stand in front of Talia. He looked down at her, evaluating her with an expressionless gaze. “I suppose I should have told you the truth from the start.”

Talia smacked the man, uncaring of any consequence.

The Emperor lightly chuckled. “It’s not even what you think.”

“You took my children and twisted them for your own amusement,” Talia angrily stated.

“And you think your first husband would have done a better job?” The Emperor mockingly questioned.

Talia raised her fist, unsurprised when the Emperor grabbed her arm, wincing as he roughly restrained her from getting out of his grip.

“Deaton told you the truth,” the Emperor lowly stated. “One of them did die in your childbed,” he watched Talia’s features for a reaction. “Kerin was stillborn.”

Talia looked surprised by such a revelation. “You’re lying.”

“He wouldn’t draw breath,” the Emperor continued. “But Derek was strong—resilient. It’s why I chose him for Deaton’s experiments.”

Talia’s gaze jumped to Kerin. She realized he must have known this whole time by the way Kerin avoided looking at her.

“Why would I use a weak subject for such grueling conditions?” The Emperor continued.

Talia glared at the Emperor one last time before spitting in his eye.

The Emperor slowly reacted, wiping the spit from his face. “That was very ladylike,” he softly grumbled. He shoved Talia back to be restrained by the guards. “Take her to the tower. I’ll make an example of her later.”

~*~

Stiles stood by Allison as they waited for the matches to end. His gaze looked to the Emperor, catching sight of the prince beside the throne.

“How are we going to go about this?” Allison asked as she followed Stiles’ gaze.

“I’ll try talking to him on my own,” Stiles replied.

“I don’t think so,” Allison countered.

“Let me try this, Ally,” Stiles answered. “I can at least try.”

Allison sighed. “I’m bursting in the second I hear foul play.”

Stiles nodded in agreement. He moved to ascend the steps, stopping when Allison grabbed his arm. “What?” He tiredly asked, wondering if she was suddenly changing her mind to let him take the lead.

“Um,” Allison started, her gaze looking up at the platform.

Stiles followed Allison’s gaze, surprised to see another figure standing on the platform before the Emperor announced the next fight. He stared at the figure, knowing he had seen him before--that he looked a great deal similar to the prince.

“Surprised you came back,” the prince taunted.

Stiles looked up at the prince, his gaze turning back towards the masked figure on the platform. Both men were hauntingly similar, and it would take a fool to miss just how much they reflected one another.

“What the hell is happening?” Allison whispered to Stiles.

Stiles shook his head, unsure what was happening.

“You know why I came back,” the masked figure uttered, hands clenching into fists at his side.

“You want to challenge me?” The prince laughed as he stepped down towards the platform.

The masked figure shook his head. “I challenge you,” he pointed at the Emperor, before continuing, “for a right to the throne.”

The roaring crowd cheered with thunderous applause.

The Emperor laughed. “You’ve passed many of the tests to get here, but you’re forgetting the rules of the tournament.”

“I don’t need a partner,” the masked figure countered.

The prince looked at the Emperor. “I’ll fight him,” he plainly stated, as if it was the simplest thing in the world to declare.

“If he won, it would end the tournament,” Allison commented.

Stiles looked at Allison, an attempt to get her opinion on the very insane thing he was about to do.

“Stiles, don’t,” Allison started, reaching a hand out for him when she realized what he was probably thinking.

Stiles took a step towards the platform, easily making his way onto the staged arena.

Allison frowned at him, knowing that Lydia was likely about to lose it when she saw Stiles on the platform.

The masked figure looked at Stiles, surprised to see him approaching.

“So, I’m guessing you’re not him,” Stiles gestured his head towards the prince. “Which I would like explained to me if I happen to survive this, and you become Emperor.”

The masked figure looked confused, remaining silent as he stared at Stiles.

Stiles pursed his lips some. “You are the first one I met, right? Cause I have a feeling I was duped a while ago by that pompous douche,” he gestured towards the prince. “He was edging into creeper territory, and I was not comfortable around him. But since you have the mask on, I think you’re the first one I met.”

The masked figure finally nodded. “I’m Derek,” he decidedly spoke.

“Derek,” Stiles faintly smiled as he spoke his name. “Good, I liked you,” he added as an afterthought. He flushed some when he realized how his words sounded. “I mean, you know … you were nice and not trying to kill me, and I thought we got along—”

“Stiles,” Derek prompted Stiles to stop rambling. He arched his eyebrows when Stiles looked at him in surprise. He gestured towards the Emperor. “We are about to enter into a life or death match,” he offered in explanation.

“Right,” Stiles stated. “I’ll finish embarrassing myself afterwards.”

Derek couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips.

“You’d pair with a human to destroy our ways of life,” the prince demanded.

“You sound confident that you’re going to lose,” Stiles retorted, turning to face them. He stretched his limbs some, moving into a calmed starting position, arms raised and his feet planted on firm ground. “I’ll take your surrender now, if that makes you feel better.”

The Emperor narrowed his gaze, recognizing something familiar in Stiles. “Human,” he addressed Stiles, finally raising up from his throne to stand to his full height. “You took the place of another in this tournament, did you not?”

Stiles narrowed his gaze at the Emperor. “The place of two, actually,” he lowly stated. “Cage and Blade,” he offered when the Emperor didn’t reply. “You probably remember them from winning the last tournament.” He knew his taunting worked when the Emperor’s expression fell into a thin line of anger. He turned his head slightly to Derek. “I hope you know for a fact you can handle him,” he softly stated.

“I’ll die to keep him from winning,” Derek answered.

Stiles nodded, taking a soft breath in. Lydia was going to kill him.

Derek took his own starting stance beside Stiles.

“Alright,” Stiles started, taking a step closer to Derek as they prepared for the prince and Emperor to enter the arena. “Let’s dance.”

~*~

Stiles used the little magic his mother had managed to teach him as a final blast, his fists radiating with the halo of green energy as they both connected with the prince’s chest. He wasn’t shocked when the force of the hit landed the prince well outside the arena’s bounds. He hesitated, knowing that he was offered the kill now that he had won. He knew defeat was worse than death for the prince though, turning his back to leave the man to his shame. He looked back at Derek, catching sight of him managing to counter and avoid all of the Emperor’s attacks.

Derek managed to meet the Emperor blow for blow. He turned with ease, relying heavily on the countless days of practice Talia forced him to dedicate to defensive training. He had seen Stiles defeat Kerin, though forced himself to remain aware enough to avoid another of the Emperor’s attacks. He dodged forward, passing through the Emperor’s defenses as he rolled onto the other side of the platform. He picked up the discarded fan blades Stiles managed to avoid when Kerin threw them in his direction.

Derek used the fan blade to his advantage, piercing the blade through the Emperor’s knee. He used his sai to stab through the Emperor’s ankle, pinning his foot to the platform.

Stiles took a step back as he watched in fascination at the Emperor being forced to kneel on the arena.

Derek moved to stand in front of the Emperor, picking up the other man’s double bladed axe. He tightened his hold on the weapon, looking down at the Emperor. Something unsettled in his stomach when the man laughed.

“You really gave in to your potential,” the Emperor stated.

“Whatever Deaton did, I want it reversed,” Derek demanded.

The Emperor’s laugh grew. “There is no cure for what you are,” he finally admitted. “Deaton was trying to make a replica of you, one without the pathetic conscious your mother gave you. He found no cure for the bloodlust.”

Derek’s eyes slit into a golden iris, red seeping into his pupils as his anger brewed.

“I had him give you those fangs to remind the world of the monster you and your mother tried to hide,” the Emperor stated with a smile. “You can’t hide from your true nature. This was all I ever wanted.”

Derek’s fangs itched for him to have blood. He wanted nothing more than to drive the axe down into the Emperor’s head. He hesitated before ultimately tossing the axe onto the other side of the Emperor. “I’m not your monster.” He turned his back on the Emperor, moving to leave the arena and head for the tower to free his mother.

“The tournament is not over until you finish this,” the Emperor sharply demanded. “It ends with blood!”

The audible gasp of the crowd, the sharp thunk of a weapon lodging into flesh, caused Derek to startle into turning around. He was surprised to see Stiles standing behind the Emperor with the axe handle in his grip.

Stiles had swung the axe down into the Emperor’s head, splitting the helmet and cleaving the Emperor’s skull in two. He released the axe, watching as the Emperor’s body fall to the side, blood splattering around the platform. “That was for my mom,” he softly stated, tears burning his eyes as he tried to let go of the last piece of grief that haunted him for the past decade.

~*~

"That was probably the dumbest thing you've ever done, Stiles," Lydia chastised Stiles.

Stiles sighed. "I won though," he petulantly countered.

"Lydia, cut him some slack," Allison uttered, slapping a hand on Stiles' shoulder.

Lydia shook her head. "You're lucky Derek was there to help you."

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek, catching sight of the other man conversing with a beautiful woman in white robes. He guessed the woman must have been Derek's mother, both of them holding a great deal of similar features.

Derek turned to look at Stiles, his eyes soft and vulnerable.

“I can’t believe you did a split and punched the prince in the balls,” Allison stated with a chuckle, breaking the silence.

“They were $500 sunglasses, Ally,” Stiles answered with a frown. “My dad got them for me for Christmas.”

“I’m sure he’ll be proud to know son like mother,” Allison laughed.

The woman who was speaking with Derek approached them, an air of calm about her. She smiled at Stiles when he turned towards her. "I would like to thank you," she extended a thanks to Stiles. "You helped my son overcome a great evil."

Stiles bowed his head to her. "It was second nature," he honestly answered.

Talia looked at Derek, a faint smile on her lips as she gestured her head towards Stiles.

Derek scowled.

"Wasn't the Emperor your husband?" Allison asked. She shrugged when Stiles elbowed her. 

“A forced marriage,” Talia answered Allison’s question. “No tears of sorrow will be shed for him.”

“What will happen now?” Stiles asked.

“With Kerin banished, the Emperor dead,” Talia started with a heavy sigh. “There will be infighting, but I still have my claim on Edenia, as does Derek.” She looked at her son, reaching a hand out to becogn him forward. “We have the Edenian Imperial Guard by our side as well. We’ll have to create a stronghold there, and hope to pull the rest of the empire out of the rubble.”

“Could you use our help?” Lydia’s voice questioned.

Stiles was surprised by Lydia’s offer.

Lydia gave Stiles a stern look. “If Outworld needs a sound leader, and Talia has the best claim for a peaceful rule.”

Talia seemed impressed by Lydia’s observations.

“We need to make sure it stays that way, to guarantee that Earthrealm is never invaded,” Lydia simply stated.

“You’ll be staying then,” Talia noted.

“We will see who can stay and who needs to head back,” Lydia answered, looking at Allison and Stiles. “But I think it is safe to say that we’ll be staying—at the very least.”

Talia looked at Derek, communicating something with her gaze that was apparently lost on all others observing the moment.

Derek sighed before turning to Stiles. “May we speak?” He started.

Stiles nodded in agreement. He wasn’t sure, but he was convinced Derek was frowning under the mask.

~*~

“I’m sorry if you wanted the Emperor to live,” Stiles started as soon as the door to the room closed behind him. “I couldn’t let him, not after what he … what he did to my mom,” he explained.

Derek nodded, finally turning away from the balcony he had first observed Stiles from at the beginning of the tournament. How things had changed since that day. “I’m not upset with the Emperor’s death,” he honestly answered. “He deserved worse than what he got.”

Stiles released a soft breath, nodding in agreement.

Derek hesitated. “You said you were the replacement for two fighters,” he started. “Claudia Cage and Johnny Blade?”

Stiles snorted slightly at the mention of his parents’ stage names. “Yeah, they adopted fake names when fighting,” he shrugged some. “They met because of the first tournament they fought in. Got married, had me, and then another tournament came up.” His fond smile suddenly faded as he recalled his parents leaving for the tournament, his father returning alone.

“The Emperor cheated when choosing your mother as his opponent,” Derek offered, remembering the fight that took place. “Your mother won, despite her injuries.” He had recalled how Claudia’s husband had protested, knowing her wounds were too great before the start of the match.

The tournament’s rules were ironclad—a challenge, once made, had to be met, or a forfeit was counted. Earthrealm had no more forfeits left, Claudia knowing better than anyone that the realm’s fate rested on her victory.

Stiles frowned at the mention of his mother’s final moments. He looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers together some. “My dad told me,” he weakly stated. 

“I’m sorry there was nothing my mother could do,” Derek replied.

Stiles looked surprised by Derek’s words, turning a questioning eye towards him.

“My mother is a healer,” Derek explained. “She couldn’t save your mother from her wounds, despite her best attempts.”

“I didn’t know that,” Stiles softly stated. “My dad doesn’t like to talk about what happened, so I don’t push him,” he offered to fill in the gaps.

“My mother’s healing magic isn’t as strong as it once was. She could barely help me with—” he stopped, remembering that Stiles hadn’t seen his face yet.

Stiles’ brow furrowed.

Derek’s eyes tracked Stiles for a moment, watching him for a sign of hesitation. He waited for Stiles to look at him before he reached up for the clasps of his mask.

Stiles looked at Derek, taking a moment to himself as he watched Derek removed the mask for the first time.

“There is a reason I never take my mask off,” Derek explained as he worked on undoing the clasps and ties securing the mask on his face.

Stiles watched in silence, waiting with baited breath as Derek revealed his secret.

Derek hesitated, his hands touching the rim of the mask—the last thing hiding his features from Stiles. He recalled how Stiles had once commented on his looks, calling him ‘pretty’—as if that was the easiest thing for Stiles to say. He supposed his features displayed outside the mask were objectively beautiful to the human eye. He knew Stiles’ expression would change when he saw what he really looked like. He sighed, pulling the mask the rest of the way off, looking down at the ground as he waited for Stiles to say something.

Stiles didn’t make a sound as he took in the sight of Derek’s face. He could see the scarring on Derek’s cheeks, surgical cuts through the flesh in order to make room for the Tarkatan fangs. “I’m guessing this is what the Emperor meant when he said your fangs,” he softly broached the subject.

Derek’s brow pinched some before he nodded, still refusing to look at Stiles. He was afraid of what he’d see—afraid Kerin was right, like every other time, and he’d be seen as a monster again.

“Do they hurt?” Stiles suddenly asked.

Derek was surprised by the question. He finally looked up at Stiles, shocked to find him closer than before. He took a hesitant step back. “Not anymore,” he stated. He knew Stiles could see the way his fangs separated and came together when he talked, displaying how different he was to a normal person with cheeks to hide their teeth.

Stiles looked intrigued more than disgusted. “Is it breezy?”

Derek blinked at Stiles.

“Oh my god,” Stiles suddenly whispered. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be such a cliche dick about this,” he started to rant, waving his hands frantically. “I just never met someone with Tarkatan fangs who didn’t want to kill me. Oh god, no, not that Tarkatans just want to kill, but the one in the Flesh Pits seemed keen on killing me, but you are not like that. Which is a total relief, you know? A fear boner can only get you so far in a relationship, and your glare could frighten kittens. But you’re totally a sweetheart.”

Derek blinked several times as he tried to process Stiles’ words.

“My dad would put me out of my misery right now,” Stiles huffed as he continued to turn a brighter shade of red with each passing moment.

“You’re not … ” Derek paused, confused by Stiles’ apparently calm reaction. “Repulsed.”

Stiles looked just as confused as Derek. “Why would I be?”

Derek looked away from Stiles. “I look like a monster.”

Stiles made a displeased noise in the back of his throat. “If that is your opinion, then your opinion is wrong,” he stated with a huff. “And if that is someone else’s opinion, they are wrong too.”

Derek looked up at Stiles, surprised when the younger man took his hand.

“So you have fangs,” Stiles shrugged. “I have green magic energy that shoots from my hands. Everyone has their bonuses,” he stated with a faint smile. “I’m … good if you are?”

Derek tilted his head to the side, slightly confused by Stiles’ words.

“I … I like you?” Stiles offered, shrugging some. “And since I’m going to be here a while longer, I was thinking we could get to know each other better?”

Derek wasn’t sure how to answer such a request. “No one … people don’t usually want to get to know me.”

Stiles frowned at that. “Well, I’m not no one, so I do,” he countered. “Things might get a little dicey once I have to head back to Earthrealm, but you’d be welcomed there.”

Derek looked skeptical. “I believe your kind would react poorly to seeing me.”

Stiles shook his head. “You could wear your mask if you want, or not. You could easily just blend in as a quirky guy on the street. Hey, I’m sure my dad would love to have you visit us.”

Derek hesitated. “In all my decades, you’re the first person to not shudder at my appearance.”

Stiles offered a small, hopeful smile to Derek. “I hope I can show you some better years than.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bonus scene that I couldn't quite fit in

It wasn’t until months later that Stiles started to think about how Edenians truly didn’t age the same as humans. So many of them told Stiles stories of Edenia before the Emperor arrived, and the news of the royal twins being born.

“Hey,” Stiles started one night as he entered the room to find Derek lounging and reading a book. He noticed Derek’s mask was off, noting how much more comfortable Derek started to act around him. “So, I have a small question.”

“Hm?” Derek answered, eyes still on his book.

“You once said something about ‘in all your decades’ when we were talking before,” Stiles began to explain. He settled on the opposite side of the couch from Derek. quizzically asked. “Just because I’m curious, and want to know just how much of an age difference we have,” he noticed that Derek suddenly looked invested in his line of logic. “How old are you?”

“I’m considered … old, in your terms of age,” Derek stated, part of him hesitating.

Stiles looked a little puzzled. “But like … how old?”

The corners of Derek’s lips started to twist downwards into a frown. “A couple thousand years.”

Stiles blinked at Derek, eyes round like an owl. “I’m sorry, thousands? Damn,” he mumbled. “You look amazing,” he stated out loud.

Derek faintly laughed at that. He smiled when he noticed Stiles staring at him. He softly asked, “What?”

Stiles looked smug with himself as he leaned forward, placing a kiss to Derek’s lips. They had kissed a few times, Stiles never pushing Derek passed his hesitations. But they shared enough kisses to know their relationship was a happy investment for them both.

“You age like a fine wine,” Stiles stated against Derek’s lips.


End file.
